


servit pre selt

by plingo_kat



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Devotion, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, probably a terrible relationship dynamic, sort of divinity porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9176656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: Noctis watches him. With the fever his skin is flushed and it makes him seem more alive, his lips redder in his face, his eyes a brighter blue in contrast. Ignis has the sudden wild urge to press his own face to Noctis’ in order to feel all that vitality cheek to cheek, intimate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/841.html?thread=13897#cmt13897) on the ffxv kmeme: "I just want more Ignis/Noctis, things I'd love to see: themes of duty & honor, guilt & shame. Weird religious and/or literary allusions are a plus for me, and smut is always a plus when it comes to these types of stories!"
> 
> Friends, all these things are my JAM.

The first time, neither of them have any idea what’s going on. They think Noctis is sick because he’s flushed and hot, pupils wide and dark.

“I don’t want to sleep,” he says, and for all that he sounds dreamy and disconnected, his eyes are sharp. “I’m not tired.”

“Your Highness,” Ignis begins, always ready to fall back on formality. Noctis is of the royal line, and Ignis is sworn to his service. He _belongs_ to Noctis, is meant for him, to protect and to care. Sometimes Ignis thinks he can feel the shape of his role fit over him like a cloak, wrapping around him like armor, helping him stand straight and tall and hold his head up high.

“Ignis,” Noctis says. There’s nothing different about his voice, but Ignis thinks that he can hear a ringing behind the word, like something slightly too high to be heard by human ears. He grasps Ignis’ upper arms. Ignis can feel the heat of his skin even through his jacket.

“Ignis,” Noctis repeats, and Ignis’ gaze is drawn to his eyes, to his own reflection there in the deep black of Noctis’ pupils. “The Astral gave me his blessing, that’s all. I’m fine.”

The Astral. It really hits Ignis, finally, that Noctis has communed with the _Arcaean_ , a being of immense and immeasurable power; that he has received its blessing, a lingering touch of divinity. Ignis has stood in the presence of a god. His king, the one he is sworn to serve, is blessed by the divine.

“You’re burning up,” Ignis hears himself say. He’s impressed by how even his voice is. He lifts his hand because he can’t help it, pressing an uncovered thumb to Noctis’ forehead. It’s faintly slicked with sweat and hot, but Ignis can’t determine anything else with just that one point of contact. He strips off his glove and rests the back of his hand over Noctis’ brow.

Noctis watches him. With the fever his skin is flushed and it makes him seem more alive, his lips redder in his face, his eyes a brighter blue in contrast. Ignis has the sudden wild urge to press his own face to Noctis’ in order to feel all that vitality cheek to cheek, intimate. It’s enough to startle him into flinching away. He tries to gentle it, to make it look like a deliberate withdrawal, and isn’t sure he succeeds.

“You should drink water and rest,” he says after he clears his throat. “If you can’t sleep—“

“Stay with me,” Noctis interrupts him, and the shock of it is enough to give him pause.

It’s been years since he and Noctis shared a bed. The young prince used to crawl in with him after a nightmare whenever his father was unavailable, which was often, and Ignis would wake from sleep in order to turn down the blankets. Noctis would curl into a tight ball of misery, leaving Ignis to stroke his hair and pull him close, spooning together in animal comfort. Right around the time Noctis decided to live on his own, the practice stopped. Ignis lived in a different building and the prince was too stubborn to ask Ignis to stay.

“I,” Ignis says. He never knew how much he missed it until this very moment, the closeness of his liege lord in the dark, acting as a guardian when he was weak, skin to skin. The intensity of his desire is shameful. “If you like, Your Highness.”

“Call me Noct, Iggy.” Noctis rolls his eyes and grasps his hand to pull him toward his tent. He generally shares with Gladio – sworn Shield and all – but apparently that’s not the case tonight. Ignis reshuffles things in his mind. He and Gladio have the same size sleeping bags, their pillows are all generic but for Noct’s, which is memory foam, so that’s fine, and they’ve already washed so clothes aren’t an issue. Gladio will see them when he comes back from gathering herbs and swap tents without complaint. Prompto has retired already and sleeps like the dead.

“All right,” Ignis says. Noctis lets go of his hand in order for them to duck into the tent. “Noct.”

The sweet smile Ignis gets for his informality sinks its way into his skin. Generally quiet and reserved, almost sullen from the outside, Noctis is a gentle and compassionate man at heart. When he gives a true smile it’s stunning.

Ignis busies himself with settling their sleeping bags as Noctis undresses. By the time he’s done Noctis has donned his flannel pajama pants but left his chest bare.

“You should wear a shirt to bed, Noct.” Ignis keeps his look to a glance before gazing elsewhere. “You’ve a fever, you need to stay warm.”

“I’d just sweat through it,” Noctis says. He steps forward and unzips one sleeping bag. Then the other. “Come on.”

Ignis pauses when Noctis doesn’t get into his own sleeping bag, instead laying it out flat and pulling the other on top of it.

“What are you—“ He cuts himself off. He knows full well that Noctis is converting two separate bags into one larger one, but the question is _why_. “Noctis…”

“I’d be too hot if I zipped up one,” Noctis says. He zips the two bags together at the foot and slides inside. “But if we share it’s more like a blanket. I can adjust better. Come on, change and get in.”

It’s no use arguing with him. Ignis takes off his glasses and puts on his sleepwear, including a full t-shirt instead of the tank top he prefers, before sliding in next to Noctis. He can immediately feel the heat coming off the other man, warm almost to the point of discomfort.

“Thanks, Iggy,” Noctis breathes. When Ignis turns his head to look, his eyes are closed.

Ignis closes his eyes in return. This is fine. He is near his king, a source of comfort. Noctis is safe.

 

He wakes up sweating.

He’s too hot even though the air is cool, skin sticking to the fabric beneath him, clinging clammy to his arms and legs, and it’s immediately apparent why. There’s an ache in his groin that’s intimately, excruciatingly familiar. He bites his lip. As long as Noctis isn’t awake – and even the thought of that makes him throb with guilty arousal – as long as Noctis doesn’t notice, Ignis can leave and… take care of the problem.

Opening his eyes is a mistake.

Noctis lies facing him with scant inches between them, and Ignis freezes. Is he asleep? Upon first glance it seems so, but as Ignis stares he can see the faint sliver of blue beneath long lashes, the slow curl of Noctis’ lips. Ignis tries to keep his breathing deep and even. Gods, he is in so much trouble.

“How are you feeling, Highness?” It comes out a whisper, but that’s all right. It’s just starting to turn light outside and they’ve recently woken – being quiet is normal. It certainly isn’t because Ignis is breathless.

“I thought I told you to call me Noct.” Noctis tilts his head up, moving his mouth closer to Ignis. “But I’m fine. Still hot.”

“Really?” Ignis props himself up on one elbow, which will allow him to feel Noctis’ forehead and conveniently also brings him further away from his face. “You feel a little cooler. I think you’ll be better by the morning, the end of the day at the latest.” 

When he moves to draw his hand back, Noctis grips his wrist.

“Noct…?”

Ignis wonders if he’s dreaming as Noctis nuzzles his face into Ignis’ hand. He automatically cups Noctis’ cheek, which allows the prince to press a kiss to Ignis’ palm.

“Okay?” Noctis says. Ignis can feel the catch and slide of his lips on his skin.

“I shouldn’t,” Ignis says, lost. “ _You_ shouldn’t—“

This time Noctis darts his tongue out, a hot stab of a touch that jolts him like braking too hard in the Regalia. His objections die a choked death in his throat.

“Okay,” he says instead, and gets the wind knocked out of him as Noctis pulls him down.

 _I taught him that_ , Ignis thinks, as Noctis rolls them until he’s straddling Ignis’ waist, one hand pinning Ignis’ arm above his head. It’s another guilty pleasure, knowing that Noctis is using skills Ignis taught him in bed, conquering him with his own techniques. Then he isn’t thinking anything, because Noctis leans down and kisses him.

It’s not a great kiss. They press together too hard and their noses bump, Noctis too aggressive and Ignis too still. They try for a bit before Noctis pulls away, easing down onto Ignis’ lap and trailing his hand over Ignis’ arm to his shoulder so he’s folded up over him, bare chest pressed warm all the way up Ignis’ front. This time they meet sweetly, Noctis’ lower lip pushing gently between Ignis’ teeth as he sucks at Ignis’ mouth, pressing warm over the bow. Ignis kisses back, too eager, a hand coming up to clutch at Noctis’ flannel pants over his thighs.

Six above and below, Ignis thinks, dazed as he opens his mouth for Noctis’ questing tongue. Noctis is so _hot_ , mouth like a brand, pouring a flood of molten desire down into his gut. His back arches as Noctis bites a little, just a tiny pinch, and he groans as Noctis grinds down in reply.

Ignis has imagined this happening before – he dares anyone not to, after they’ve seen Noctis sweaty an bright-eyed after a victory in the training salle, or sleepily tousled after a midday nap – but only ever in fits and starts, furtive flashes in the shower or under his sheets, and always, always with bitter recrimination afterwards. It’s gotten all twisted up in him, the want and the shame, until he can barely tell the difference between them.

“Please,” Ignis whispers. He closes his eyes against the pale blur of Noctis’ face so close to his.

Noctis pulls back to breathe and then leans back in for another kiss, just a damp smear of lips to lips, before he wriggles down Ignis’ body.

“Okay?” he asks again, and Ignis can feel the heat of his breath against his hip.

“Yes,” Ignis gasps. He fists a hand in his hair when Noctis hooks his fingers into his waistband, fingernails tickling the sensitive hollow at the join of thigh and hip. “Yes, please, Noct.”

Noctis nuzzles him right above where he needs it most. His nose stirs the sparse hair trailing down his abdomen, and the quiet rasp of it hooks its way behind Ignis’ spine. He lifts his hips eagerly when Noctis tugs at his pants.

He _has_ to open his eyes for what happens next. At the first tentative touch to his cock he pulls his hair, muscles tense, and bites his lip in order to keep quiet. The tent doesn’t have enough light to see clearly but Ignis can at least make out Noctis’ general features. 

He can _certainly_ make out the wet flash of tongue as Noctis licks the tip of his cock, one hand wrapped around it to tilt it toward Noctis’ mouth, and Ignis can’t stifle the soft cry of surprise that escapes his throat. Noctis hums and does it again, and again, each time causing Ignis to heave hitchingly on an inhale, before wrapping his mouth around what his hand can’t reach.

Ignis can’t breathe. He feels like he’s strained a muscle trying to keep himself still so he doesn’t thrust up and choke Noctis: Noctis, who he is supposed to protect, who is his _king_ , his king who has flushed red lips stretched wide over Ignis’ cock—

“Noct,” Ignis tries to say, but only the first syllable comes out and it’s more like a wail. This is every dirty-wrong fantasy he’s ever had coming true, his ruler on his knees with wide eyes sucking him down, face flushed and eager to see Ignis come apart. He wants to shove deep into Noctis until he chokes, to feel the constriction of his throat over him; he wants to come until his spend is leaking between those beautiful lips, until tears well up in Noctis’ eyes. He wants not to want that, wants to be gentle and worshipful and adoring, to make Noctis feel good so he’ll come back again and again and let Ignis run reverent hands all over his soft pale skin.

Noctis suckles at him. It’s clear he’s relatively inexperienced at giving head, but that doesn’t matter to Ignis – or rather, it does only at the idea that Ignis may be his first, that _he_ might be the one to teach Noctis how to make another man feel good in that way. In any case it’s all he can do not to immolate in the wet heat of Noctis’ mouth and the tentative press of his tongue, Noctis’ hand squeezing tight at the base.

“I can’t,” he chokes out, feeling the warning coil in his belly and the base of his spine. “Noctis, I can’t— _Your Majesty_ —”

His head tips back as he comes, jaw clenched, so he can’t see Noctis’ reaction. The pleasure is wrung out of him in long slow pulses, and by the time he’s recovered enough to lift his head again Noctis is wiping his mouth with the back of hand.

“Sorry,” Ignis croaks. He reaches out to tip Noctis’ chin up, thumbs away a wet smear on his cheek. Noctis’ eyes are wide and dark; he looks drugged and desirous and hungry. An aftershock ripples through Ignis and makes him shiver. “Sorry, come here, let me…”

Noctis rubs his whole body along Ignis’ like a cat as he slides up to be face to face, rutting his erection along the line of Ignis’ thigh and into his abdomen, demanding. When they kiss Ignis can taste himself on Noctis, in him, and he worms a hand between them to grasp Noctis’ cock with a fervent eagerness. Noctis gasps.

He’s wet with precome and sweat. Ignis pulls him with a slow twisting jerk, moving his mouth in the same rhythm. Noctis allows it for a little while, but soon he grasps Ignis’ shoulders and rolls his hips faster, chasing release, and Ignis is forced to match. Their mouths slide, part – and that’s fine, because Noctis huffs out short quiet moans into Ignis’ ear with each thrust, his cheek pressed sweatily against Ignis’.

“It’s all right, Noct.” Ignis runs a hand down Noctis’ back, gliding easily over slick skin and tracing the sinuous curve of his spine. “Let go.”

Noctis pushes into his grip several more times before he groans and slicks Ignis’ hand with come, rubbing it in to pool thick on his belly.

“Beautiful,” Ignis murmurs, petting the hair at the nape of Noctis’ neck as he comes down. Noctis presses a kiss to Ignis’ throat. He tilts instinctively to give him more access and Noctis latches on and sucks.

“Oh,” Ignis sighs, feeling his cock give a valiant twitch. He imagines the mark bright and vivid in the morning light, a brand of ownership for all to see. And Noctis certainly likes to keep his mouth occupied, doesn’t he? Perhaps he has a bit of an oral fixation.

Noctis mumbles something into his neck.

“What?” Ignis tugs lightly at Noctis’ hair.

“I said,” Noctis raises his head, “what time is it?”

Ignis blinks, but he lifts his wrist to check his watch.

“Ah!” He sits up, but gently, still cradling the back of Noctis’ neck. “I need to start making breakfast.”

Noctis goes further limp against him, threatening to send them both back onto the sleeping bags.

“Noct,” Ignis says. He feels infinitely tender here in the sweaty aftermath of their coupling, sticky and sated and feeling the slow intrusion of the day’s reality. He wants to tell Noctis how he feels, how he’s longed for this for years. Instead he presses a kiss into the mess of Noctis’ hair. “Unless you want Gladio and Prompto to complain, I really do have to get up.”

“I guess,” Noctis sighs, vastly put-upon. He lifts his face to press another kiss to the corner of Ignis’ mouth. “We should talk about this, probably.”

“Undoubtedly.” Ignis must still be high on endorphins; he would never be so nonchalant otherwise. At the current moment he feels no apprehension that Noctis will decide this was all a mistake; any issues, such as Noctis’ imminent marriage to Princess Lunafreya, seem well in the future.

He sneaks a lick of his finger after he turns his back to find the wet wipes. Noctis tastes of bitter and salt. Ignis wants it on his tongue all the time.

“But that can wait,” Ignis says, kneeling by Noctis. He holds the wet wipes between his hands to warm them, careful not to shock Noctis with their coolness. “Go back to sleep, Noct. I’ll wake you when breakfast is ready.”

“Okay,” Noctis says.

“How does your fever feel?”

“Fine.” The corner of Noctis’ mouth quirks up. “It really was just a reaction to the Astral blessing. I’m better.”

“Good.” Ignis brushes his lips over Noctis’ forehead. “Rest.”

Noctis closes his eyes, still smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> plingokat @ twitter


End file.
